Tunnels (5 page)

 

TOP TEN WAYS TO STAY HOME FROM SCHOOL TO AVOID FURTHER HUMILIATION

 

10.Hold thermometer under hot water for a minute, stick in mouth, get back in bed, groan like you
'
re dying.

9.Eat massive amounts of veggie soufflé and follow it up with spinach and mom
'
s energy drink. Hurl loudly in the bathroom nearest parent
s
'
bedroom.

8.Tell parents you are majorly stressed out and need a mental health week. Say you want to cancel cable and only watch news shows so they know you
'
re seriously sprung.

7.Totally clean house without being asked and claim the cleaning products have made you feel woozy.

6.Lie on couch with a heating pad clutched to your abdomen and cry a lot over nothing. Dad will avoid you completely when Mom tells him,
"
It
'
s a girl thing.
"

5.Put on bathing suit and roll in grass so you develop a mysterious rash. Itch a lot so you
'
re completely red by the time you show parents.

4.Lay at bottom of stairs and yell for help. Say you got dizzy and fell. X-rays and MRIs will guarantee a few days off.

3.Tell brother you love him and only want to spend time with him from now on. Parents will want an immediate mental eval which will take a full day for sure.

2.Tell mom you only want to wear pink floral clothing she picks out from now on. Another mental eval will be on the way.

And the #1 way to legitimately stay home a few days:

Go to Pizza Playground, climb through tubes, get in ball pit, let kids cough and sneeze on you without smacking them, lick hands. Germs galore? Check!

A DATE?

"Uh, that would be no!"

Evan wasn't cooperating. He even held his hand up in front of my face for crying out loud. Thanks, Mom and all those judges on TV for teaching my best friend to be the most annoying bestie ever. I'd started to ask him to go with me to the tunnels again and this is how he answered me.

I knew it was risky going back there. I knew better than anybody. There was a lunatic loose who definitely didn't want me snooping around. But why? What was this tunnel guy trying to keep me away from? For some reason answering this question was more important to me than how scared I'd be going back to the tunnels. Plus, wouldn't he have killed me already if he wanted me dead?

"But E—"

"Oops, there's my ride. Tyra won't wait—got a marathon of her and the girls and it starts at four." He jumped in his Mom's station wagon. Thanks for all the support, buddy.

"Hey, how's it going?"

Was that whose voice I thought it was? I did a one-eighty. David's eyes were green with gold specks in them today. How does he do that?

"Uh, fine." Boy, I am so not interesting. I even tried to toss my hair out of my face with a quick flirty move. Instead one of my longer corkscrews stuck to my lip gloss and I had to peel it off. "I'm on my way home." I glanced over at my bus and wished I could die. Cool people don't ride buses. They got rides from older friends.

David was staring off into the distance and I was waiting for him to leave just like Evan had. But it was weird. He just stood there, shifting from side to side, like he was nervous.
That
was interesting.

"Want a ride?" he finally asked. "My cousin Kenny is picking me up. He won't mind."

Huh? Had David Perkins just offered me a ride home? I should answer him, but my tongue truly was tied. Plus, I was afraid if I said anything I'd sound like one of Mazetti's mice squeaking out an answer. The world slowed down…voices, car horns, and birds chirping all sounded far away. Except for that song floating on the breeze. Were those angels singing, or was I about to pass out?

Say something, you idiot,
I finally told myself.

"Uh, sure." I know. I'm an incredible flirt. Mom would probably kill me if she knew I was getting a ride home from a guy who'd just started seventh grade. I'd have to remind her she knows his mom. Besides, I'm almost twelve and it's not like I'd get in a car with just anybody. It's time she got over the whole "you're too young" excuse.

"Cool." He glanced around the parking lot. "I don't see him here yet. He's actually going to be driving the car I'll get when I turn sixteen, but it still needs a lot of work and‒"

"Like, hi, Davey!" Kelley interrupted him as she slithered up beside us. Staring hard at me, she wound her arm through his. What a snake. And why's she doing it anyway? She already has a boyfriend who's in eighth grade and on the JV football team. I so wish he'd walk by and see her flirt-cheating on him.

"What's up, Dracula?" She giggled as she said it and I wanted to smack her good. I'd never eat strawberries again because of her. Like Evan says, she's the b-word and now we can add snake to the list of names to call her.

"Hey." At least my voice had returned. Funny what evil can get you to do. "Guess you and the girls need to get those new uniforms. Last year's seem a little tight." Her face froze and I saw her glance down at her sweater. David stifled a full-on laugh ‘cause he's way nicer than me. Or Evan.

But even the stifle was enough to make the queen of the cheer squad look like she was about to punch me. "I wouldn't be so mouthy if I were you," she warned as she unwound herself from him. "I know your secret."

Crud. Secret? Had they cracked the code on the note? I guess it wasn't like one of those ridiculously hard Cryptograms Dad loved to do in the Sunday paper. Probably anyone, especially girls who've put their baby blues, browns, or golds on him could figure out my answer: D.P.C.B.E. (David Perkins Cutest Boy Ever for those of you who are challenged like Ashley).

"Nice job!" He held his hand out for a down-low after Kelley walked away. I would've preferred a high one, but whatever.

"Thanks." I half-heartedly gave him the five and realized he didn't know she'd threatened me with something big.

"She's seriously been bugging me lately," he said.

"Welcome to my world," I mumbled, wanting to tell him he didn't know the half of it. "The difference is, she bugs you because she likes you. But you probably won't have to deal with that anymore." I shifted on my crutches and realized David was staring at me like he…well, likes me. Wow.

"Come on, there's Kenny." He pointed to an older car—the cutest little Mustang I'd ever seen. In baby blue. How could anybody be so perfect? I tried to push away what Kelley and friends might know that could totally wreck me and my reputation.

"Nice car," I commented. Boys like it when you compliment their rides.

"Thanks," he said, taking my backpack from me. "My great uncle gave it to me before he went missing. Kenny and I are working on it today so he's driving it. Actually, I let him drive it a lot to keep the motor primed."

"Wow, you already have a car? That's really cool." He's got a missing uncle? That's awful. "So you don't know what happened to your uncle?" I asked as I began hobbling toward his car. "Must be super hard."

"It is. I wondered why he was always so sad. Mom and Dad finally told me they think he missed his fiancée. But he didn't like to talk about it, so I don't know too much about what happened to her. He'd come for dinner on holidays, and then a few years ago he didn't come for Thanksgiving."

"Maybe he'll surprise you and show up again this Thanksgiving," I said, not knowing how to comfort him.

"Maybe," he shrugged his shoulders but I could tell it bothered him. "Anyway, how much longer do you have to use those?" He motioned to my crutches.

"Till next week."

As we walked to the car, I could see all the girls on the cheer squad were listening to Kelley, but staring at me. Probably planning when to post a picture of the daily question online for the world to see. And in post number two my less than 140 character answer was just enough to ruin me. Timing is key for maximum damage to anyone's rep, and I was sure Kelly was just waiting till she smelled blood to take me down in a big way.

Of course, I could always try to deny it, say it wasn't my note. It's not like any of us put our initials by our answers. We color coded them and my signature color was black, of course. Evan said not to worry about it, but easy for him to say. It hadn't fallen out of
his
backpack, and mine was the only answer on the note so far.

"Hey Kenny." David stuck his head through the open window. "Mind if we drop my friend off?"

He must have said it was all right because David grabbed my crutches and backpack and opened up the door. As I climbed in the back I felt him put his hand on my back to steady me. Tingling traveled from his hand right through me and all I could do when Kenny said hi was nod.

"Thanks, man," David told Kenny. He threw our packs in the front seat, then climbed in back with me and rested the crutches on our laps.

"No prob," Kenny turned up the music and backed out of the parking space.

My insides began to feel all gooey. Why? Because when your crush gives you the idea he might like you too it's hard not to feel squishy inside. I had to purse my lips to keep the goofy expression off my face.

As we drove out of the school parking lot, I pinched myself for good measure. Thankfully the pinch hurt, so I knew I was officially sitting in the cutest-boy-ever's-future-car. And he wasn't even a foot away from me. Wow.

The car smelled like him, and I couldn't stop staring at his hand resting on my crutches. Those were the hands which pulled me out of the hole. I started sweating remembering that day, or maybe I was just getting overheated sitting next to him.

Kenny turned up the station and we both started singing under our breath. "Hey—you like The Black Keys?" I asked.

"Sure do." He tapped on my crutches in such a cute way. "They're going to be playing at the college in a few weeks."

Again, can he be more perfect? "I know—I wanted to go. I'd been saving up for the tickets, but my demon brother did a bribe thing on me so now I'm broke again." I stared out the window. The tree leaves were changing to burnt orange and browns. Funny what you notice when you're in love and your favorite music is playing. Mom said the only reason she said the L-word to Dad first was because Stevie Wonder made her do it. I think I understand now what she was talking about.

"You can take a right at the next street," I told Kenny. The four miles home had gone way too fast.

When we pulled up in front of my house I hoped all the b-word girls in the neighborhood saw us. "So about the concert," he said. "You want to go together? My Dad runs the ticket stand and Kenny'll be there with some of his friends, in case your parents are strict about that stuff."

A little voice in my head warned,
Don
'
t say something stupid,
but my mouth didn't listen.

"Uh, sure, uh, I just need to ask my mom and dad." It's one thing to be too young to date, it's another to admit to your crush your parents still fully own you.

A GHOST?

After dinner I remembered I had the seven-to-nine shift at the library. They couldn't afford to pay their employees past six anymore so a bunch of us at Crossley Prep decided to help out. We're the ones who actually care about more than changing our status. I'm here once a week because a) it's my favorite place, and b) I get extra credits at school for it.

"Well hello, Katherine! Would you mind shelving the books on that cart today?" Ms. Finstead asked as she pointed to a crud-load of books on the rolling cart against the wall. She looked like a librarian from the past, with a bun and wire-framed glasses. Even her dress looked like she was checking books out to kids at some one-room schoolhouse on the prairie in the eighteen hundreds. "But first, if you can manage it with your bad foot, can you take this box down to the basement? It belongs on the long shelf at the back." She handed me the key to the door. "Make sure you lock it when you're done."

"No prob, I'll just leave my crutches here. I'm finally pretty good at getting around on my walking cast," I said as I the picked up the box. It was heavy and had a label: THE FORTNIGHTLY CLUB, circa 1918. Never heard of it.

The long hallway leading to the stairs was pretty dark, but I didn't bother to flip on the light. Didn't need to. I could find my way around the library blindfolded. I knew there were twenty-seven floor tiles from the restroom to the check-out desk and eighty-three to the middle grade books. Since I was little I'd been counting stuff. Evan says it officially makes me cray-cray and qualified to be on one of those TV shows about people with weird habits—like washing their hands a bazillion times a day, or collecting finger nails.

I'd also memorized every stone-carved face sitting on top of the wood pillars at the corners of each of the rooms. Someday I'd like to find out what the different expressions on the faces mean. All along I'd figured they were from fairytales, because though each one didn't exactly look human, they weren't animal, either. More like a mix between those famous seven dwarfs and characters straight out of that hobbit story that goes on forever.

When I reached the end of the hall, I noticed the old-fashioned street lamps in the garden. They lit up the stained glass windows which sat about ten feet up on the wall. Since I was little I'd always loved the pictures on them: orange groves, the old railway station, the Native Americans farming, and some of the oldest homes in Citrus Grove. But the best one had pictures from some of my favorite books when I was a kid, like Pooh with the honey jar on his head and Jo, Meg, Beth, and Amy from
Little Women
acting out one of Jo's stories in their attic.

I was careful as I took my first step down the long staircase, since I had no free hand to hold the old wood rail. It was stained from all the hands running along it through the years. We're talking way back to the eighteen hundreds. What had their lives been like? Did any of them wonder about the tunnels? Did any of them have moms who cooked sucky food?

Each step on the staircase creaked as I stepped on it. On the wall to my left, I noticed the shadows from the busts which lined the shelf above me—marble heads of important people in Citrus Grove's history. Sort of like the ones in the Haunted Mansion at Disneyland. I always expect them to start talking any minute. Cool, but also creepy.

About halfway down I stopped when a cold breeze blew past me. Weird, 'cause this wasn't exactly the time of year the a/c was used. Plus, the ceiling was rounded and super high and there weren't any air vents I could see. So what was that?

The door at the bottom was open about an inch. Which is not right at all. I knew for a fact it was
always
locked. Important stuff was kept down here—stuff I knew was worth a lot of money. Like old documents, coins, maps, and some recently donated items the library would either auction off, or put in the Citrus Grove Historical Museum. Of course most of it I'd like to take home, me being addicted to history and all. But I'm only into white lies, not stealing stuff which doesn't belong to me.

Nudging the door open with my foot, I stepped inside the dimly lit room. The air felt heavy, like it always does in places below ground level. The smell made me think about the tunnels. When would I be able to get back to them? Trying to get a famous life off the ground is no easy project, especially when parents make you do stupid things and punish you for no good reason.

I shivered as I walked along the tall bookshelves to the back of the room, but it's not because it was cold. They keep the temp pretty even in this room to preserve the old stuff. It was more like I felt someone was watching me and my arm hair was thinking the same thing as it stood on end. Stupid, I guess. And it probably doesn't help that I'd just gotten through a marathon of every spooky Halloween movie out there.

Putting the box down on the long counter, I swung around. Nothing was there as far as I could tell. Just shelves of books blocking a good view of the whole room. So anything or anyone could be hiding in the aisles.

Shut up,
I told myself. Why would someone hide in a library? So I showed all things scary that I wasn't scared at all. I turned my back to it (them?) and shoved the box onto the shelf while talking myself down off the ledge of losing it completely. And it was going pretty well until I heard something hit the ground. Afraid to completely check things out, I sneaked a quick glance over my shoulder. I prayed it was just Louisa May Alcott, the stray cat who's the official library mascot now. Louisa's pretty beefy under all the fur and I'd seen her knock over plenty of stuff in the time since we adopted her. But I didn't see her. Or what had fallen.

"Who's there?" I asked, but not in a demanding way…more like a whisper. Rule numero uno in a scary movie: don't make the bad guy angry. So it seemed like a good rule for real life, right? But when no one answered, I wasn't sure if it was good or bad. I mean, what if someone tried to kill me down here? Now, in addition to my arm hair, the hair on my neck was also standing up. In case you don't know, this is totally a sign to run as fast as you can.

Wait a minute. If I ran from this, how was I ever going to become a great archaeologist? People who discover stuff are brave regardless of how scared they are. They keep moving because the discovery is more important than the fear. So I made myself not run, took a deep breath, and decided to check out the other aisles and see what might be lurking there (note to self: don't use words like lurk anymore if you want to lower the fear factor).

I took a few steps and peeked around the end of the first aisle. Empty. Okay, one down, two to go. A few steps and ready to peak down the next one when something moved. Out of the corner of my eye, a flicker of color and then it was gone.

"Here kitty, kitty…" My voice was shaking and I prayed to hear the familiar meow of Louisa.

But the only sound was my breathing.

And my teeth chattering.

Because now? Not only were there strange noises, but the temperature had just dropped big-time. And the dim lights began flickering overhead, making shadows dance around me. Could it be the lighting in here? Somehow my nerves didn't think so.

Come on, you wimp. Just look down the next aisle. Louisa
'
ll be sitting there licking her paw,
I tried to convince myself.

But when I did, it wasn't Louisa I saw. It was a couple of books, about half-way down the aisle, laying face up on the wood floor. Big, thick books which definitely wouldn't fall with a little gust of wind, or even if our fat library cat leaned against them. This was crazy, and I shook as I got closer. Which is when crazy became out of control. Their titles?

Tunnels of the Ancient Ones

and

Going Underground: A Story of Survival